Maelstrom
by Kerkerian-Horizon
Summary: Maelstrom: 1. "A very powerful whirlpool; a large, swirling body of water. A free vortex, it has considerable downdraft". 2. "A restless, disordered, or tumultuous state of affairs". Synonyms: tumult, pandemonium. One-shot dealing with Sherlock's state of mind concerning the Reichenbach Fall. And John, of course.


**Disclaimer**: Sadly, I do not own Sherlock.

**Author's notes**: The definitions and synonyms in the summary were taken from Wikipedia and dictionary dot com respectively. Story contains very minor spoilers for _The Reichenbach Fall.  
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**Maelstrom**

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Sherlock hasn't expected it to haunt him. In those endless moments before he stepped off the ledge (_out of his life_) he tried to imagine what it'd feel like. He didn't have a noun for it but there were verbs (_fall. sweep. tear_). The nouns came later, accompanied by strangled words, maimed words, less-than-words (_horror. unwant._ _wh_-). They keep echoing around in his mind, mocking him.

The step off the roof was a step towards freedom and destruction. He was mostly aware of how it hurt. Hurt in his body, hurt in his mind, hurt in his friends. He set out not only to destroy an evil man's poisonous tendrils but also the light of a man who was pure (_no longer a conductor of light from that moment on_). A man who would have saved him if either of them had known how (_or_ that. At all.).

The man in question is a man Sherlock needs to forget (_temporarily, equals eternity_) in order to get back to him (_eventually, equals eternity_).

He has never been so alone. The fall (_sweep, tear, horror, unwant_) is haunting him. There is no light to chase away the darkness (_eternity is saturnine_). The world has lost its known parameters (_too big, too empty_), space is closing in on him (_cold, unbreathable, endless_).

* * *

In his darkest moments he can't stop thinking of the man he needed to forget. The man he's robbed of his light (_a single step was all it took_). He's sorry (_hurts in his_ _body, hurts in his mind_). He closes his eyes and feels the wind rushing by (_tear_) and wishes he could stop it all, go back in time, find a different solution (_unwant. undo._ _regret_).

He tries not to close his eyes too often, there's enough darkness around him anyway (_cold, saturnine, endless_). He needs to breathe, to focus (_he needs light. Knows_ _one can't get everything one wants. Everything has a price_). If the fall keeps haunting him, he won't be able to look forward (_equals more eternity, unbreathable_). The biggest enemy he could have is himself.

So he forces himself to forget the fall and the light. He knew it'd be hard. He knew he'd possibly break in a way he'd never have thought possible (_or_ that. At all).

It doesn't matter. He's taken the first step, the one which was the most difficult of all steps (_sweep, tear_); now he needs to keep going. Freedom for the price of destruction (_as often is specific to human societies_).

Later, he realizes he's been stupid. He will need to close his eyes at one point. Maybe it was wrong to try and forget the man who was pure. Maybe he was the only light Sherlock was going to have (_at all_). Taking the next step and another, away from the man who would have saved him means leaving a part of the destruction behind (_simultaneously taking a part of it with him, undeniably_), but also, impossibly, means heading towards freedom and back to his life (_interrupted, come to a_ _complete stop: equals eternity_). He doesn't know whether he'll be welcome (_unwant, horror, HORROR_) if he gets back. He can't think about that however (_unbreathable_). He needs to focus.

He finds he can balance the darkness and the memory of his light if he concentrates (_keeping space at bay, keeping him breathing_), at least on good days (good _being a relative term_).

He's been called a machine once. He doesn't think it's very fitting now, though he doesn't feel human either these days. He doesn't have a name for what he is, only adjectives (_forlorn, cruel. Hollow_.)

* * *

When he finally meets- he needs to get used to saying that name again, _John _(_a sigh, a whisper_), the other man's light is feeble and far, diminished after two years of mourning. There's much (_confusion anger hurt concern disbelief wild joy and)_ grief in his eyes.

John's still easily readable (_for a moment, he's ready to punch_). He wants to be distant, an instant instinct to protect himself, but his eyes roam over his friend (_who still_ _feels the dreadful eternity breathing down his neck; equals horror. The next moments are crucial._) and his expression softens.

He demands explanations. Wants to know how someone can do what Sherlock did. How. Why. But mostly how.

- If anyone could, it's me. You said it before. (_machine_)

- About that-

- I know.

- Sherlock... (_Voice frail, all of a sudden, choked. Belated impact_.)

- I apologize. I need you to listen.

- I don't have a choice, do I. (_Trembling, John listens. Caleidoscope face. When he's finished, Sherlock closes his eyes for a moment. The darkness is receding. No wind. He feels a bit less hollow._)

Healing will take time, both of them are aware. But Sherlock senses that there are other words now, tentative but undeniable, words he'll be able to use soon: mend. Home. Forgiveness.

(_Relief_.)

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**The End**

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Thank you for reading.

I'm not a native English speaker, therefore I apologize for any mistakes.

Please leave some feedback.

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